The Heart as a Jigsaw Puzzle
by hypotensedaemon
Summary: Kyoya learns to listen to the signs of his own body—the things his heart tries to tell him but his mind won't accept.
1. A Question

**Chapter 1: A Question**

 _14 years old . . ._

It was when his gut started squirming that he knew something was wrong. The girl beneath him kept giggling, clearly enjoying herself, but he couldn't share that feeling. He didn't feel _anything_ , except a mild discomfort that continued to grow with every minute that ticked by. He intended to please her, but by so doing he assumed that he could also please himself. Evidently, that was not the case, and it unsettled him; of all the things that could've happened, he had not anticipated this.

The girl belonged to a family in charge of a well-known manufacturing company—one that (rumor had it) intended to merge with the Ootori Group for a lump sum. It was a questionable move, to say the least, and so Yoshio Ootori had ordered his youngest son to investigate. The girl, the daughter of the family head, was notoriously fond of courting young gentlemen. And so Kyoya had decided to capitalize on that asset, which had landed him in his present position, straddled atop the young lady in question.

He knew he couldn't let her see his discomfort, and so he continued to mechanically stroke down her sides, trailing his fingers over her soft, exposed belly. He'd studied up for tonight, so he felt assured as he slipped his hand beneath her rose-pink panties. She arched slightly toward him, and he slipped his middle finger between her labia and began to rub over her clitoris, increasing the pressure gradually. Her breath came out in quick puffs, her face beginning to flush and contort in pleasure. His finger stroked faster, and she arched further, making little whining sounds. Then she grabbed the back of his head, chunks of black hair slipping between her fingers, and began to press him downward. He understood immediately: she wanted him to use his tongue.

He resisted his desire to push back against her hand, and let her guide him, gently slipping her panties down her thighs as she did so. He hesitated, then opened up her labia with two fingers; she gripped his hair roughly as he rapidly tongued over her clitoris, and she gasped and arched as he fought a gag reflex. He felt her body shudder against him as she cried out, and then she collapsed back to the sheets, panting.

Seeing his work was done, he pulled away and leaned back on his heels. Her cheeks flushed pink, she laid there for a moment, catching her breath. After a few seconds ticked by, she rose and began to crawl slowly toward him across the bed, her panties now twisted around her knees. She reached out and unbuttoned his pants with delicate fingers, then started to wiggle the zipper loose, until his hand caught her wrist. She looked up at his face in surprise, her eyebrows scrunched.

"Don't you want me to please you as well?"

He hesitated. "No," he said, then smiled lightly. "Tonight was for you."

"Oh," she said, flushing. "How very generous of you."

 _How very generous, indeed._

* * *

The hot water burned its way pleasantly down his back, and he reached for a sponge, saturating it with body wash. Roughly, he began to scrub all over himself, working from his shoulders to his chest and belly, all the way down to his feet. He let the scalding water rinse the soap away, then started again, until his skin burned pink and raw. He found it difficult to look down at himself, so he quickly stepped out of the shower and wrapped his body up in a large white towel.

The steamed mirror glared at him dully, so he reached out and swiped a clear spot right over his eyes. His own face came into focus slowly, staring back at him with a blank expression. Unsure of what he was supposed to feel, he looked away, picking up a comb and gently beginning to work through the knots in his hair. He focused on the pull of each clump as he untangled them bit by bit, then let the comb clatter to the counter.

He met his own gaze again, and felt nothing but a mild disgust and an unsettling sort of emptiness. It was nothing like the usual emptiness of a completed task; this time, it stung. He felt betrayed, betrayed by his own body. Why hadn't he been able to feel any pleasure? Was there something wrong with him? Was it all some kind of sick joke?

He cast his towel aside and took himself in, in his entirety.

He was a perfectly healthy young man. What the hell was the matter with him?


	2. A Realization

**Chapter 2: A Realization**

 _15 years old . . ._

With Tamaki Suoh, it began to make sense. At first, he thought he couldn't stand the idiot. Of course, sometimes he still couldn't. He was obnoxious, flamboyant, carefree—everything that Kyoya wasn't. But sometimes, he caught him off-guard. He made his stomach flutter. The feeling was impossible to describe, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant either. In fact, it felt remarkably like pleasure.

Time passed, and he came to know his own body better. Winter nights spent under a kotatsu in his family's living room, pushing at each other's feet taught him that sometimes it was the simple things, the unexpected, that were the best source of pleasure. To watch how Tamaki smiled and wriggled when he hit a ticklish spot—well, that was just a bonus. It seemed there were a lot of perks in friendship, after all.

There were times though—late summer nights at the Suoh mansion, after Tamaki had fallen asleep beside him—that he wondered if there wasn't something more to it. Friendship was foreign, unfamiliar, but surely even friendship couldn't feel this good, this right. Sometimes, he would catch himself staring at Tamaki's face, whether sleeping beside him or chattering animatedly across a classroom. Something compelled him to do so, something entirely beyond his own control. It frightened him more than anything.

* * *

"Do you want to know what I think, Kyoya?"

"What do you think?"

They had created a tent out of blankets and lit it up with flashlights in the middle of the Suoh's parlor; they both laid flat on their stomachs, facing each other. Having tired of reading ghost stories (Tamaki, that is, having been sufficiently frightened), they'd lapsed into a comfortable silence.

"I think you're enjoying this far more than you'll admit," Tamaki laughed.

Kyoya smiled. "You ought to see your face when you're frightened. It's hard not to enjoy."

Tamaki only smiled back and tossed a pillow at him, which Kyoya caught and threw back in Tamaki's face. His look of surprise was priceless, and Kyoya couldn't help laughing to himself.

"So that's how it is, huh?" Tamaki asked, drawing more pillows close to arm himself. Kyoya did the same, and what followed was a merciless exchange of cushions flying left and right.

Soon, their entire fort had collapsed amidst a mountain of fluffy carnage. They both fell back in the pile of blankets, catching their breath, then turned to meet each other's eyes. Kyoya felt his stomach flutter as Tamaki gazed at him, hair ruffled but eyes as bright as amethysts.

The idiot just couldn't stop smiling.

* * *

 _16 years old . . ._

Finally, it seemed the pieces had fallen into place. Staring down at what could be the only answer, Kyoya felt first ashamed, and then angry, and finally deeply, inconsolably betrayed. Of all the possible solutions, why did it have to be this? Why did it have to be the most difficult, the most painful of all?

Why did he have to be so damn madly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his best friend?


	3. A Decision

**Chapter 3: A Decision**

More than anything, he knew he needed to keep his feelings to himself. To reveal them would only cause suffering, on both their parts. He couldn't bear the thought of that. More to the point, he was damn well terrified of admitting his own feelings to himself, let alone sharing them with anyone else. Certainly, it would be in everyone's best interest if he buried his love along with his many other secrets. Information need only be shared if beneficial to do so, after all.

So he devoted himself to his duties, keeping the host club running smoothly, and ensuring that Tamaki's little family didn't suddenly come crashing down around him. As long as he kept a cool head and saw to the practical matters, Tamaki was free to follow every whim that took his fancy. And Tamaki would know he needn't worry himself, not ever—Kyoya would keep everything running like clockwork. Kyoya would take care of everything. He always did.

* * *

 _17 years old . . ._

When Haruhi Fujioka showed up at the host club one morning, Kyoya saw nothing but opportunity. Time passed, and he watched Tamaki watch her. Before long, he had made an observation, a decision, and a plan of action: Haruhi had captured Tamaki's attention; he would therefore support Tamaki's pursuit of Haruhi unconditionally; furthermore, he would ensure that nothing stood in the way of their happiness, including and perhaps especially himself.

It was surprising, how much it hurt—but then again, with Tamaki, everything was surprising.

He had come to know his own body at last—its wants, its warnings. He no longer feared its betrayal. He was in control now, and he would reveal nothing of his own desires. That was his decision, and he was determined that only he would suffer for it.

* * *

"Ahh . . . senpai?" said Haruhi. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course it's not," Kyoya replied, watching Tamaki attempt to assemble a blanket fort in the middle of the music room.

". . . Then, uh, why are we doing this? Kyoya-senpai, I thought you were supposed to be the reasonable one."

Kyoya turned to Haruhi then. "As I'm sure you've guessed, this was entirely Tamaki's idea. I'm just here to supervise and make sure it doesn't turn into a disaster. In fact, why don't you go help him? It looks like he could use a hand . . ."

They both turned to Tamaki again, who had become nothing more than a wriggling lump within a mass of blankets. Haruhi rolled her eyes. "Hang on, senpai, I'm coming . . ."

Kyoya watched her untangle Tamaki from the mess. He emerged laughing, his face flushed with joy; Kyoya nearly smiled at the sight. Together, Tamaki and Haruhi began propping furniture around the room and draping blankets over them. Kyoya made a point of scribbling in his black book throughout the proceedings, resisting his desire to join them.

The slumber party theme, fated as it may have seemed, ended up going off without a hitch. Kyoya, with all of his meticulous planning, had ensured it was so.


	4. A Frustration

**Chapter 4: A Frustration**

"Kyo—ya!" the girl gasped. "Slow . . . down!"

Kyoya stilled, trying to regain his composure. He was panting, and the room was spinning. He'd lost control of himself, he realized, as he'd thrust and thrust into her.

He pulled away from her now, suddenly feeling sick, but she grabbed his arm. "You don't have to . . . stop," she panted. "Just don't be so . . . _rough_."

"I'm sorry," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I think . . . you better leave now."

"Kyoya, I . . . did I do something wrong?"

"No," he said hoarsely. "No, you did nothing wrong. It's me, it's just me."

After she left, he knelt before the toilet for a long time, waiting to be sick, until he eventually fell asleep with his back against the cold porcelain of the bathtub. In the morning, he washed the tear tracks from his face.

* * *

Kyoya tried to keep his distance from everyone the next day, especially the other hosts. However, his efforts quickly proved futile.

"Kyoya, is something the matter?" _Tamaki. Of course._

"Nothing to speak of."

Tamaki hesitated, watching his profile while he pretended to write in his notebook. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, quite sure," he replied, still scribbling nonsense. "Why don't you join Haruhi? She seems to have her hands full over there." He gestured vaguely to where Haruhi sat, surrounded by a tableful of guests. Tamaki glanced in that direction, then back to Kyoya.

"I think I'd rather stay here for now, actually."

Kyoya finally turned to face him. "Tamaki," he said firmly, "I'm fine. Now please go."

"But—"

"Haruhi needs you. And I need to work in peace. Excuse me," he said. And with that, he walked away, leaving Tamaki looking after him with a confused expression.

"Kyoya . . . ," he murmured, just as the door clicked shut behind him.


	5. A Confrontation

**Chapter 5: A Confrontation**

Slowly, Kyoya let himself slide down the bathroom wall, burying his face in his hands, sinking into himself as he hit the floor. He hardly had a moment to pull himself together before there was a knock at the door.

"Kyoya?" called Tamaki's worried voice, echoing off the bathroom tiles. The handle jiggled, which Kyoya had made sure to lock behind him. The idiot jiggled it again.

"Kyoya," he whispered through the crack in the door, "If you don't let me in, I'll have to make a scene."

 _Damn him._ That was the last thing Kyoya wanted, and Tamaki knew it.

So Kyoya picked himself up, unlocked the door with a click, then grabbed Tamaki by the sleeve and dragged him in. The door slammed shut behind him, and the light disappeared with it, leaving them standing in a dim grayness.

"What do you want?" Kyoya snapped, through with keeping up a calm appearance.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Tamaki replied softly, eyes shining with nothing but an innocent concern. "You pretend like you are, but I know you're not. Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Because it doesn't concern you!" _Because it's_ you _that's wrong with me—it's_ you _._

"Then who does it concern?"

"You ought to be out there helping Haruhi. You just abandoned her, with all of those guests! She—she needs you!" He fought to keep his voice from rising any further.

Tamaki just shook his head. "I don't think so, Kyoya. I think you need me."

"I DON'T!" he shouted. And that's when he crumbled, as if the reverberation of his own voice was too much for him to bear. "I don't need you! I never did! Just leave me _alone_!" He backed up against the wall, then slid down it, burying his face in his hands again. Silence greeted him, then there was the sound of another body sliding down the wall beside him. God, he couldn't stand having him so close. Not now, when he felt so filthy.

He tried to inch away, but a hand fell on his shoulder. "Kyoya . . . ," the voice shook, "what's going on?" He looked up to find that Tamaki was crying. His eyes were teary and his lips quivered.

Instantly, he was sorry he'd said anything. His stomach squirmed horribly at the sight. He'd spent all this time trying to make Tamaki happy, and now look what he'd done. If he hadn't been convinced that Tamaki would be better off without him, he certainly was now.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean that. It's nothing, I promise. I just had a bit of a rough time at home last night, that's all. I promise everything's fine. Now please stop crying."

Tamaki sniffed. "You didn't mean it?"

"No, I didn't mean it. I—I need you. Far more than you need me, I'm sure."

Tamaki smiled, his eyes brightening. "Oh, that's not true at all, Kyoya! The club would fall apart without you—everyone knows that!"

"I suppose you're right," he replied, attempting to smile himself. "Speaking of which, we should probably get back out there. What would the others do without us?" He pushed himself up, then offered Tamaki his hand. Tamaki accepted it, and he picked him off the ground with one solid pull. Quietly, they both dusted themselves off, then made their way toward the door. Just before Kyoya's hand reached the handle, however, Tamaki closed his own hand over it.

"Oh, and Kyoya?" he said, "You'll tell me, won't you? If there's something wrong?"

"Of course."


	6. An Epiphany

**Chapter 6: An Epiphany**

 _A few days later . . ._

Tamaki had showed up at his door for an impromptu sleepover, of all things—an old tradition that he said needed to be revived. As a matter of fact, they hadn't done this for a long time. Not once this year.

Before long, they were both curled up under the kotatsu with hot cups of tea, chatting just like the old days. But Kyoya couldn't help but be suspicious; why had Tamaki decided to show up now? Especially after how he'd acted the other day.

Perhaps that was exactly why he'd decided to show up. Maybe he felt sorry for him.

Now that was a thought Kyoya couldn't bear.

He listened to Tamaki blabber on and on, throwing out wild ideas for their next cosplay, describing lavish decorations, expensive new tea sets and flower arrangements, until Kyoya couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Tamaki," he interrupted, "Why are you really here? Surely you didn't come to discuss run-of-the-mill club activities?"

Tamaki, momentarily caught off guard, smiled at him. "No, I suppose not," he said. "I just really wanted to see you. We haven't done this in so long—it's a shame, really." He flashed him another warm, winning smile. "Did you miss this as much as I did?"

 _So much more._ "I have missed this, yes. But that's beside the point. Why did you decide to come over now?"

Tamaki's eyes clouded for a moment. "The truth is, I've been worried about you, Kyoya."

 _So it was out of pity._

"Now don't jump to any conclusions," Tamaki said, as if he'd read his thoughts. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said the other day." Kyoya held his breath. "It seems like whenever I try to get near you, these days, you push me away. I think I'm beginning to understand why." _This couldn't be happening._ "I see the way you look at me when I'm with Haruhi. But you don't need to worry anymore, okay, Kyoya? You'll always be my best friend, no matter what. No one will ever replace you." He smiled brightly at him, laying his hand on his arm.

It took Kyoya a moment before he could get his face to move, but then he managed a tight smile. "Oh. Thank you, Tamaki. I'm very glad to hear that."

"Now let's have some fun! Do you have any good ghost stories for me?" Tamaki bounced up and down on his heels. "You know how I love those!"

"Oh, I'm sure I could dig some up," Kyoya smiled, his chest aching.

* * *

"Wow," breathed Haruhi, actually sounding impressed, "Kyoya-senpai really outdid himself this time."

The entire music room was draped elegantly with pearl-colored curtains and glowing golden lamps. Beautifully carved marble pillars were erected here and there—there were even a few statues of Greek gods and goddesses to complete the theme.

Tamaki glanced around, his eyes dancing. "This is everything I dreamed of!" he squealed, "Right down to the gold-trimmed tea sets!"

Haruhi looked around too. "Where _is_ Kyoya-senpai?"

"Kyo-chan stepped outside for a bit," said Honey, who was breaking in the new tea set with an elaborate assortment of cakes. "He said he wanted Tama-chan to be surprised, and he didn't want to give anything away. Kyo-chan worked on this all night, didn't he, Takashi?"

"Yeah," Mori replied. "He did."

"Oh," said Haruhi, sounding mildly confused. _Why would Kyoya-senpai have bothered working on this all night? They didn't even have any guests coming in today._ She glanced up at Tamaki, who was still taking in the lavish decor with wide, sparkling eyes. "Kyoya-senpai must've really wanted to make you happy," she said, "to go through all this trouble."

Tamaki looked down at her, an expression of mingled joy and guilt on his face. "Yeah, he must've . . . ," he murmured, looking around the room again.

"I think you should go thank him, senpai. This really is incredible."

"Yes," he said, beaming. "I will! I'll go find him right now!" And he started out the door, but just before he left, he heard Kaoru's voice.

"Man, talk about a labor of love . . ."

The words resonated through his head. _A labor of love._

Kyoya was right—he really _was_ an idiot.


	7. A Resolution

**Chapter 7: A Resolution**

"Kyoya!" he called, his voice echoing across the grounds. He ran out the front door, past the trickling fountain, and circled around the Academy until he reached the rose gardens. "Kyoya!" he called again, nearly out of breath.

There was a moment of stillness, then Kyoya stepped out from behind a bush of white roses.

" _Kyoya!_ " he cried, sprinting up to him, grabbing him in his arms, and spinning them around and around. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! It's beautiful! It's perfect! Did you really do it all for me?"

He released a dizzy Kyoya, who adjusted his glasses unsteadily. "Well, yes," he said, as if it were blatantly obvious, "Of course."

"Oh, Kyoya!" he cried again, grabbing him and spinning them around a few more times. "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

"Yes, yes, alright," Kyoya sighed as soon as he was released. "That's enough, Tamaki. I'm very tired, and I'm in no mood for your exaggerations."

"No, Kyoya," Tamaki said, taking him by the shoulders and staring him straight in the eye. "I love you. I _love_ you."

Kyoya blinked a few times. "What are you talking about?"

Tamaki threw his head back and laughed. "You're as thick as I am sometimes, you know that? I said _I love you, Kyoya._ Do you have anything you'd like to say to me?"

Kyoya stayed silent for a moment, just staring at him. Then he opened his mouth.

"You idiot!" he said, "Why would you say that?"

Tamaki laughed again. "Because it's true!"

"No, you moron! You love Haruhi!"

"Haruhi?" Tamaki spluttered. "Of course I love Haruhi!" Kyoya's expression faltered for a second. "She's our little girl—how could I not love her? But she's not _you_ , Kyoya. I love _you_."

"So . . . so you don't . . . want to be with her?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you!" Tamaki laughed.

"Stop laughing!" Kyoya cried, "This isn't a joke! You're always giving her so much attention . . . I thought she made you happy . . ."

"Well, you can't blame me for worrying about our little girl, now can you? Kyoya, it's _you_ who makes me happy. I thought you could see that. Can't you see that now?"

". . . But . . . do you mean . . . ," Kyoya said, adjusting his glasses with a shaking hand.

"Yes, you idiot! How many times do I have to tell you— _I love you._ "

* * *

A good deal of time had passed before the doors to Music Room #3 swung open, revealing the two kings of the host club. Hikaru and Kaoru were busy trying on their new Grecian robes, and Honey and Mori sat enjoying the cake-laden tea set, so only Haruhi noticed their quiet entrance. She glanced them over—both Tamaki and Kyoya were smiling—and then she noticed their hands, how their fingers were gently entwined together, and smiled.

It was about damn time.


End file.
